Marc Myers writes daily on jazz legends and legendary jazz recordings

September 2010

September 07, 2010

Today is Sonny Rollins' 80th birthday. In addition to his much-anticipated
concert at New York's Beacon Theater this Friday night, a new coffee-table book has just arrived that features lush color photographs by John Abbott and engaging text by Bob Blumenthal. Saxophone Colossus: A Portrait of Sonny Rollins (Abrams) is about as close as you will get to Sonny
short of actually meeting or spending time with him. Through the nearly 100 images and probing text, you wind up with a fine sense of who Sonny is as a jazz superstar and as a person. Though Sonny didn't authorize the book, he also didn't stand in its way or hold anything against the authors for proceeding. [All photos of Sonny Rollins in this post by John Abbott]

As a musician, Sonny continues to dominate jazz 61 years after his first recording. Off stage, Sonny is as graceful and as kind as can be. This hardly means he's a soft touch. He isn't. Sonny is about as
dainty as a lion tearing across a field. His voice booms with power, energy and excitement, and his thought process is equally vivid and dynamic. When Sonny talks, he develops a point out loud, searching and circling an idea for just the right articulation. When he finds the words that best sum up his view, he goes right in for the kill.

But Sonny also is a gentleman whose manner is as regal as his jazz-world status. This book captures all of these qualities along with his artistic commitment and rich sense of humor—and the book's images and content treat him with enormous respect.

Few photographers have had John Abbott's behind-the-scenes access
over the past 15 years. John's jazz images have appeared on the covers of more than 250 albums and magazines, most notably JazzTimes. The pages of this book are filled with close-ups and candids of Sonny, leaving you with a fine feel for the subject. [Photo of John Abbott by Graham Morrison]

Like jazz photographers of the 1940s and 1950s, John comes at Sonny from two directions. His camera is fully aware that Sonny is a legend who needs to be celebrated in a grand way. But John also clearly is a patient photographer, waiting and watching for just the right moments that will reveal something new about Sonny, something previously unsaid. And he succeeds, page after page. No two photos of Sonny capture the same mood or expression.

Bob Blumenthal [pictured] has won two Grammy awards for jazz album
liner notes and is a former contributor to the Boston Globe and Boston Phoenix. He has interviewed Sonny multiple times, and his writing here is first rate, never dwelling on worn-thin history or overdoing adulation. Instead, Blumenthal puts Sonny in perspective, explaining tersely and carefully why he's special and essential.

One of my favorite images in the book is of Sonny at a rehearsal in September 1998. Dressed all in black, he's sitting in a folding chair with his saxophone off to the side, wearing dark glasses, with his right leg stretched out while his left is bent slightly. Everyone in the band is watching him intently. The juxtaposition of Sonny in another zone while everyone else is in the here and now is fascinating. This is Sonny at work—naturally cool, completely in control and thoroughly magical.

Of course, it's impossible to pick a true favorite image, since each photo individually is a fragment of the larger portrait expressed by the entire book. Only
when these images are absorbed collectively do you have a firm sense of who Sonny is, what makes him tick and how hard he works to create music that's new and exciting.

Going through the book for the first time, I stopped after the third page, realizing that something was missing: Sonny's music. So I pulled three albums that I thought would go
best with Abbott's images and Blumenthal's appraisal. The albums I chose were The Sonny Rollins Quartet with Thelonious Monk (1954), Newk's Time (1957) and Alfie: Original Music From the Score (1966). You may have albums you prefer over mine. My point here is this book requires Sonny's music to fully enhance and appreciate the words and images.

Sonny never ceases to amaze, and Saxophone Colossus brings all of his many qualities into fine relief.

JazzWax pages: John Abbott and Bob Blumenthal's
Saxophone Colossus: A Portrait of Sonny Rollins (Abrams) can be found here.

September 06, 2010

Since this is a holiday weekend, I decided to move my usual
Sunday review feature to Monday and stretch out a bit. What's more, I had a bunch of new discs to share with you, so making this a day's post rather than a squeezed-in feature made the most sense:

You've got to sample Chico Pinheiro's There's a Storm Inside.
If you dig Chet Baker, you're going to love this Brazilian
singer-guitarist. He has enormous taste and delivers lyrics with the
breathy laid-back phrasing of the West Coast trumpeter. Several tracks also feature rich string arrangements, such as Our Love Is Here to Stay, orchestrated by Oscar Castro-Neves. As you'll hear, this album just keeps getting
better and better as Pinheiro slips into a Rio groove and swings song
after song without pandering. Except for the first Gershwin track, this
is a pure samba play, smartly avoiding the hackneyed American Songbook
standards so common on Brazilian efforts. Actually, there's one other song by an American composer: Pinheiro made a brilliant
choice in covering Stevie Wonder's As from Songs in the Key of Life
with Dianne Reeves on the vocal. Special guests on the album include tenor
saxophonist Bob Mintzer and vocalists Luciana Alves and Reeves. You'll find
Chico Pinheiro's There's a Storm Inside (Sunnyside) at iTunes or here.

Nat King Cole recorded three albums in Spanish between 1958 and 1962. While the U.S. market shrugged off the LPs, the albums had a profound effect on the Latin-American and South American markets. In tribute to Cole's outreach to Hispanic
record buyers yearning for a stake in the American post-war experience, Cuban vocalist Issac Delgado has released L-O-V-E, a tender and passionate collection of songs that Cole recorded in Spanish. On two tracks Delgado is joined by Freddy Cole, Nat Cole's honey-voiced brother. Tenderly sounds steamy in Spanish, as does I've Grown Accustomed to Her Face and Green Eyes. Delgado brings enormous heart to every track. You'll find L-O-V-E (Calle 54) at iTunes or here.

Saxophonist Matt Garrison's Familiar Places is quite something. Not only does he exhibit a big, strong sound on the tenor and baritone saxes, but he's joined by some impressive guests,
including Claudio Roditi, Don Braden, Michael Dease and Sharel Cassity. Most of the songs and arrangements are by Garrison. Try sampling A Thoughtful Attempt to see what I mean. Or check out Jimmy Heath's Without You—No Me (To Dizzy). Garrison is a major force to watch and listen to carefully. You'll find Matt Garrison's Familiar Places (D-Clef) at iTunes or here.

Working with Eyvind Kang on viola and Rudy Royston on drums, guitarist Bill Frisell has produced a fascinating folk-fusion album in Beautiful Dreamers. The angst of the
electric guitar against the cut-grass sound of the country viola makes for quite a pairing. You hear this sound on It's Nobody's Fault But Mine and No Time to Cry. One of the most interesting executions of this town-country approach appears on Going Out of My Head, which features Frisell and Kang employing pizzicato throughout the Little Anthony pop hit. You'll find Bill Frisell's Beautiful Dreamers (Savoy) at iTunes or here.

Drummer Chris Massey's Vibrainium is a smart contemporary hard-bop album that grabs your attention from the first track—Massey's Galactus. Massey enjoys diving in but fortunately he's a masterful drink-stirrer who would rather empower his group than turn the session into a slam-bang drum showcase. Listen to Massey's shimmering cymbal-playing on the title track or how he enhances Chick Corea's Windows. Pianist Evgeny Lebedev also is a standout here. You'll find Chris Massey's Vibrainium (ChrisMasseyJazz) at iTunes or here.

Sid Selvidge's I Should Be Blueis a different type of album. It's country-folk and offers many joys. Selvidge's music reminds me of one of those back-porch sofas that swing back
and forth. Songs like Catch the Wind, Dimestore Angel and I'll Be Here in the Morning with Amy Speace as well as The Dolphins show off Selvidge's Southern roots and interpretation. My favorite track is the country-soul Fine Hotel. Sample for yourself. You'll find Sid Selvidge's I Should Be Blue (Archer) at iTunes or here.

September 05, 2010

I'm not quite sure why so many jazz musicians have such a hard time connecting with audiences. Whenever I go out to hear jazz, I'm always struck by how poorly musicians on stage bond with the people who came to hear them. Audiences crave interaction but never seem to get it and often leave disappointed. Either stage musicians stand or sit there expressionless the entire set or they engage in forced banter, often at inaudible levels, making everyone more uncomfortable. Off stage, their communication skills are even more miserable, unable to greet fans or carry on a few lines of conversation. [Pictured: Sensors by Pat Brassington, 2010]

Post-war jazz has always strained under dual masters. For the music to connect with audiences, it has to be deeply personal, internal and sensitive. But for the music to earn money and pay bills, it has to reach more and more people who will find it worthy, which requires charisma and entertainment skills. Most jazz artists get the first part. The second part? Not so much. [Photo of Thelonious Monk by Herb Snitzer]

All of this non-communicative, too-cool-for-school attitude by jazz artists probably dates back to Thelonious Monk in the late 1940s. But Monk could get away with it. He was exceptional, and audiences had already been weaned on jazz-influenced music. Today, treating audiences as though they aren't there compromises a musician's ability to earn. Times have changed. Audiences want to see musicians excited by what they're doing. Audiences want to feel a connection to the artist, they want to be part of the experience. Rock and soul musicians have always understood this and have benefited from being expressive. [Photo by William Klein]

In today's day and age, when everyone's personal information is all over the web and people talk all day by email and text, jazz musicians must train themselves to be more personable and react with emotion to what they're doing. The days of the surly stage genius and mum musician are over. Musicians who don't think being expressive on stage is their role shouldn't then whine that rock, pop, r&b and every other form of music receives more dollars and attention. Your audience is your income. The more you put in, the more you'll get out. It's really that simple.

Coltrane, Monk and Rollins. Filmmaker Bret Primack, in support of a new series of CDs from Concord Records, has put together a clip that looks at the special qualities of John Coltrane, Thelonious Monk and Sonny Rollins...

Oddball album cover of the week. Yes, here's another one of those enormously inventive trio album cover designs for Red Norvo. Others in the re-issue series included three kittens in socks hanging on a clothesline and three newborns being delivered by a stork. Looks like the art director here in the TV era decided to give up cute and opt for action.

September 03, 2010

A couple of months ago, I asked Sonny Rollins if he would be willing to visit his old neighborhood in Harlem with me from the back of a comfortable car for the Wall Street Journal. His 80th birthday was coming (September 7). So was a much heralded concert at New York's Beacon Theater (September 10). Now was an ideal time to reflect and look ahead. [Photo by John Abbott]

Sonny agreed.

So several Sundays ago, Sonny and I traveled uptown in a Lincoln Town Car. For the next two hours, we visited three different areas of Harlem, with Sonny commenting on the places and childhood events that helped shape him as an artist. He had never made such a personal trip with a writer before, and the result appears in today's "Greater New York" section of the Wall Street Journal. You'll find it online here. [Photo by John Abbott]

During our ride uptown, Sonny and I talked about his 1995 performance at the Beacon Theater and the struggles he encounters when trying to give an audience a powerful performance. There wasn't room for the following conversation in my Wall Street Journal article, but here it is as a bonus:

JazzWax: Did you enjoy playing at New York's Beacon Theater in 1995?Sonny Rollins: Actually, I wasn’t happy with my performance. I don't blame anyone but myself. When the curtain goes up, it’s up to Sonny Rollins in terms of how I sound and what I'm doing. It’s my responsibility to be Sonny Rollins. I always try to make sure that is my No. 1 priority—making sure I sound good. Whenever I play, I take responsibility. I’m old school. It’s my job to satisfy the public.

JW: How do you do that?SR: By practicing hard every day. I also compose every day when I can.

JW: Why?SR: I’m trying to get a certain perfection in my music, in my playing, in my performance, in my ability to make sense and ultimately to satisfy my audiences. It's all of these things. I am an artist seeking perfection.

JW: What has to happen for this to take place?SR: Of course, my embouchure has to be in great shape and my reed has to be just right, but I also have to be in a good place mentally. When that happens, hopefully the audience reacts. If I'm happy, Marc, people will react. [Photo by John Abbott]

JW: But don't your audiences always react positively?SR: To an extent. But I have stringent standards for myself that they don’t know about. Once I satisfy some of my demands, they will be even happier. That's when a performance comes together magically. There’s no explaining it. Every concert doesn’t come out the way I would have liked it to. Even the ones that people did think came out well, I sometimes wasn't happy with them. Every time I walk on stage I'm trying to create an extraordinary event.

JW: What are you doing when such events happen?SR: Who knows why these things happen? That’s the unknown that makes music great. It's not something you can quantify all the time. That’s the beauty of the arts. You have to know when you did that stroke that opened up a new vista for you. You don’t know why you did it or how. You enter a place creatively and it happens. [Photo by Jamie-James Medina]

JW: So when you’re not feeling a specific way on stage, the odds are greater that you're not going to produce what you want? SR: I would think so. There are times when negative things happen, like feeling it isn't my night or that things aren't in place musically. I’m trying all the time, of course, to overcome those things. You have to take that into consideration as an artist. Even if things aren’t falling into place right away, I’m working like heck to make it happen.

JW: Do you ever think you’re too hard on yourself?SR: No. I don’t think I’m too hard. I probably could be harder.

JW: But does a point ever come as an artist when you're being too hard on yourself, that your discipline will trample the creative aspects of what you want to do?SR: No, I don’t think so.

JW: How do you avoid becoming too rigid or formulaic?SR: When I say I'm hard on myself, I don't mean that I'm rigid. When young people call me up, they say, "Sonny, what do you practice?" My answer always is that they must first absorb the rudiments that they need to know. You have to be sure you practice those every day. But then you have to make time to be creative and free. [Photo by Michael Jackson]

JW: So a jazz artist in performance constantly has to fight to be free?SR: I think so. You don't want to say, "Gee I have to practice this or that over and over again." No. Of course, certain things are important. For instance, I know that I have to hold whole tones to build up my embouchure, so I do these exercises. But I don’t make it a big deal. If you do, then practicing becomes a chore. Practicing has to be viewed as fun, it has to be easy. You’ve got to leave time for expression, to keep yourself open to expression. That’s what I do.

JW: I have to assume that when you perform, you’re not even there, that you’ve left the stage mentally.SR: Exactly. That’s my whole thing, the process of improvising. You have to know your materials, you know the songs, you know the harmonics—all these things. You have to learn those back and forth. Then when you get on the stage, you forget all of it [laughs]. See what I mean? [Photo by John Abbott]

JW: And then?SR: And then you let the subconscious take over. That’s my thing. My subconscious takes over quickly and I don’t know what I do. I surprise myself by what I play, and that’s great.

JW: Are you letting yourself be more emotional when this happens?SR: Emotional. Hmmm, that’s a tricky word.

JW: I mean soulful—emotional rather than rational? SR: My mind is trained to do the things I'm trying to do. What happens after that I don’t know. It’s something else. It's magical. I'm not consciously aware of what I’m doing. My mind is blank and not consciously going after one thing or another. If everything comes together, then the creative part becomes an exciting experience for the audience. And for me. [Photo by John Abbott]

September 02, 2010

During the 1940s and 1950s, many jazz musicians had
nicknames. Some were bestowed on them by band members. Others were affixed by parents or friends while they were growing up. One of the most popular sobriquets during this period was "Sonny." It seems to have been given most often by parents in need of differentiating between children or between the child and the father or grandfather in the home.

What if all of the best-known Sonnys in jazz were united for a big-band session? If you have a Sonny I've overlooked below, please add to the Comments section for all to see:

September 01, 2010

In rereading producer Orrin Keepnews' superb book, The View From Within, a collection of his jazz writings and recollections over the years, I came across the following passage on Bill Evans and the recording of Explorations. I've often posted that the years between 1959 and 1965 represent my favorite Bill Evans period, with Explorations being among my favorite recordings, primarily for its poetic ideas and bounce.

Here's Orrin, a recently named NEA Jazz Master, on the February 2, 1961 session that he produced:

"Explorations was the direct successor to [Bill Evans'] first working-trio record, but it did follow (by less than a week) the first of three trips to the studio in connection with a Cannonball Adderley album on which Evans was featured.

"The trio [Evans, Scott LaFaro and Paul Motian] had now been together for more than a year, had spent much of that time on the road, and had made giant strides towards the goal of becoming a three-voice unit rather than a piano player and his accompanists. Inevitably—and properly—Bill remained the focal point, but his interweaving with Scotty and the freedom this truly unusual bassist was afforded were very much up front.

"There had also been noticeable movement towards the more introspective style that is generally considered 'typical' Bill Evans, and is certainly the most widely influential aspect of his work. Although this is really much more a matter of approach than of tempo, it is more readily apparent at the relaxed pace that predominated on this session.

"Also much in evidence is that emphasis on the reworking of standard tunes: six of the nine selections are in that category. Of the others, Nardis is credited to Miles (although I have always wondered if perhaps an assist shouldn't also go to Bill, who took part in its first recording on Cannonball's 1958 Riverside debut album); Israel is an intriguing but neglected piece first heard on Davis' legendary Birth of the Cool set; and Elsa is one of several contributions made to Bill's repertoire over the years by his friend Earl Zindars. When we finished with more material than could comfortably fit on the album, Evans decided The Boy Next Door was most expendable, but it was eventually inserted into a '70s reissue package...

"My chief recollection of this session is as a classic case of personal factors influencing musical judgment. Evans was full of openly expressed negative feelings during the date, largely because of a running nonmusical argument with LaFaro. I felt equally negative, being annoyed with both of them and distressed by Bill's complaints about a presumably tension-induced headache. Although I kept insisting that the music sounded just fine, that was mostly pep talk; I actually shared his misgivings, and we were equally surprised when later listening proved my words to have been accurate. (In a 1976 interview, Bill went so far as to call this 'one of my favorite albums.')

About

Marc Myers writes regularly for The Wall Street Journal and is author of "Anatomy of a Song" (Grove) and "Why Jazz Happened." Founded in 2007, JazzWax is a two-time winner of the Jazz Journalists Association's best blog award.